


Four Sides Don't Make a Square.

by ariadnes_string



Category: Grimm, Grimm (TV)
Genre: Fever, First Time, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadnes_string/pseuds/ariadnes_string
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What’re we supposed to do: go knock on the door, and say, sorry you’re not feeling well, dude, but we’re your friends and we’re here to fuck you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Sides Don't Make a Square.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://ariadnes-string.livejournal.com/130938.html?thread=2775162#t2775162) at [Running Hot II](http://ariadnes-string.livejournal.com/130938.html?page=5). The first part was posted over there a few months ago.

Monroe’s just helping Rosalee close up when Nick comes in.

“Hey.” Nick gives them each a nod but no smile. “Do either of you know anything about the black market in _barneiren_?”

Monroe cocks his head, Nick’s terseness pinging him wrong.

“Sure. That’s always a hot ticket item,” Rosalee tells him. Then she wrinkles her nose and narrows her eyes at Nick. “Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”

She’s right; he does. Flushed across the cheekbones and dark under the eyes, the rest of his face pale even for winter in Portland. Monroe sniffs cautiously, and smells what Rosalee must’ve: the faint, sour tang of fever.

“I’m okay.” Nick rubs his forehead as if it hurts. “Just kinda under the weather this week, that’s all.”

Rosalee grimaces sympathetically. “Flu? There’s still some of that going around.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry. I have just the thing. Hang on—I’ll make you some before you go.”

“That’s okay, really,“ Nick starts, but she’s already headed off to the makeshift kitchen she’s rigged in the storeroom.

“You gotta let her do her thing, man,” Monroe says, looking after her and trying not to let his rush of affection for Rosalee show too much in his voice.

 

But Nick doesn’t seem interested in that. As soon as Rosalee is out of sight he grabs Monroe’s elbow and turns him so he’s facing away from the entrance to the spare room. This close, the scent of illness is stronger, with something else underlying it—something Monroe doesn’t immediately recognize.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Nick whispers. “I need your help. Something weird is going on.”

“Dude, something weird is always going on. It’s practically your job description. But right now, if you don’t mind my saying so, you look like you should be home in bed. Let the weird stuff take care of itself for a change.”

“That’s just it. I can’t. There’s something weird going on with me.”

“Yeah?” Monroe feels the first tendril of worry uncurl in his belly.

“Yeah.” Nick pauses, and then clearly steels himself to go on. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been running this fever all week. That’s the first weird thing: usually I can shake off a bug in a day or two. Wednesday, Juliette drags me to the doctor’s, and he says, just some virus, should go away with fluids and rest. But—second weird thing—even though that’s all I want to do, go home and get some rest, when I get home, I, well, I just can’t get enough.”

“Enough what?” And then Monroe identifies the scent. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey,” Monroe squeezes Nick’s shoulder and tries to laugh reassuringly. “No big deal. That happens to some people when they run a fever.”

“Not to me, it doesn’t. I’m thinking it’s something, I don’t know, Wessen-related. Spell, poison, maybe something like what Adalind did to Hank.”

“Yeah?” Another tendril unfurls. “You, um, you obsessing about someone? Someone other than Juliette?”

“No. Well, not exactly. It’s more like everyone, all the time.” Nick sounds miserable.

“All the time? Even when you’re feeling crummy.”

In answer, Nick pulls back the side of his thigh-length coat and flicks his eyes downwards.

Monroe looks. “Oh. Dude.”

Nick drops the edge of the coat.

“And have you,” Monroe proceeds cautiously. “Been doing, uh, stuff, with, uh, other people?”

“No. God, no. I could never do that to Juliette.”

“Right. Of course not.” Monroe backtracks like it’s going out of style. “I didn’t think you would. I know how you feel about that kind of stuff. You’d never. Not to Juliette. How is she?” he adds after a moment.

Nick sighs. “Tired. I think we can safely say that whatever it is, it’s not contagious.”

“Man, I’m sorry. That sucks. But all that—that combinations of, um, symptoms—that’s not something I’ve heard of before,” Monroe tells him. “We better ask Rosalee; she knows more about spells and potions than anyone—“

“No, no way, I can’t tell her—“

“Tell me what? And Rosalee’s back, a cup of something hot and gingery-smelling in her hands.

+++

“You better sit down, boys,” she says, once they’ve explained. Or, rather, after Monroe has explained, in as neutral language as he can muster, while Nick stands hunched and awkward beside him. “It sounds like someone gave you a serious dose of Nerzvolkspeichel,” she informs them, once they’re gathered around the table in the back.

“Nerf-ball-what?” Nick’s got his hands wrapped tight around the mug and looks paler than ever.

A distant bell chimes in Monroe’s memory. “Wait—I’ve heard of that. It used to be pretty popular back—“

“Back when I was on the scene, when I was using, yeah,” Rosalee finishes for him. “It’s made from the saliva of a female Nerzvolk. People used to use it when they wanted to indulge in, uh, group activities. Keeps you going, you know.”

“Kinda like Wessen Viagra?” Nick asks, a bitter twist in his lips.

“I guess,” Rosalee concedes. She’s much less embarrassed by all this than either him or Nick, Monroe thinks, falling all over again for her sweet gravity, her expertise. “It has some other qualities, too, that aren’t much like Viagra.”

“Like what?” Nick doesn’t sound like he wants to know.

“Like it tends to, well, reverse the polarities, if you know what I mean. If you usually like one thing, you’ll like the other.”

Nick’s squinting at her now, and Monroe can feel his own face mirroring his puzzlement.

Rosalee purses her lips and speaks with a schoolteacher’s precision. “I don’t know you that well, Nick, and I’m just guessing about your sexual tastes, but it probably means that you need to get fucked.”

“Oh,” says Monroe. And then, before his brain can catch up with his mouth, he finds himself adding. “Is that all? Well, look, I can help you there, buddy. We can take care of that right now.”

They both stare at him and he snaps his mouth shut. But not before he’s seen the wave of hunger darken Nick’s eyes. And caught the flicker of a wicked smile on Rosalee’s lips. It’s enough spark a zing of desire in his own blood.

Then Nick breaks the moment. “I, uh, thanks, I appreciate it. But, like I said, I can’t start doing stuff like that behind Juliette’s back. Weird Wessen secretion or no weird Wessen secretion. I’m just going to have wait til it wears off.” He pauses. “It does wear off, right? Even if you don’t do _group activities_ or, y’know, stuff you don’t usually do.”

“I think so,” Rosalee says. “I don’t know. I don’t think I ever knew anybody who went that route.” Her face puckers with concern. “Why don’t you lie down here for a while—I can give you something to help you rest—and I’ll do some research.”

“No.” Nick gets up. “I’m going over to the trailer—maybe there’s some information on this, some way to get it out of my system faster. Text me if you find anything.”

He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, hands in his armpits and he’s visibly shivering.

Monroe can’t stand it. “I’ll come with you,” he says, ignoring Nick’s glare. “I’m not sure you should be driving right now.”

+++

They take Monroe’s car, and Nick makes a breathy sound of relief when he turns the heat all the way up. By the time they get to the trailer, though, the chills have left him, and he sheds his coat and overshirt despite the penetrating damp. The pink on his cheeks has spread to the base of his throat now, and Monroe wishes they’d never had that awkward exchange at the herb shop, because now he can’t help wondering how far down the flush extends.

Nick, however, is all business, except for the way he chatters in an entirely un-Nick-like way while he searches for the right notebook.

“I mean, Juliette and I have been together so long you wouldn’t think we’d still…but we do…I mean, I don’t know what’s normal for other couples, but we…and we try stuff. I mean, she likes to try stuff: me, I’d just, you know, day in, day out, but I want her to be happy. But this, this thing…

It’s all starting to be way too much information, so Monroe takes a stab at changing the subject.

“How do you think they got you? With the Nerzvolkspeichel?”

“Don’t know. It might not even have been intentional. Hank and I busted up a meth lab last week, and one of the perps threw something at me when he was trying to get away. I thought it was just water—maybe it wasn’t. Hey—maybe this has something.”

He pulls out a volume covered in purple suede. The words _The Travels of Moonshade Starshine Grimm (nee Nancy)_ are spelled out in faux-Elven lettering straight out of Tolkien across the front.

Nick laughs. “Aunt Marie was always warning me not to do stuff or ‘I’d end up like my cousin Nancy’—but she’d never tell what exactly it was Cousin Nancy had done. This seems like a good place to start.”

He sits at the table and starts flipping through the book’s pages. Monroe hovers behind him, trying to read over his shoulder. This close, he can feel the heat coming off Nick, and the unnerving combination of scents is overwhelming. For all the color in his face, the nape of Nick’s neck looks pale and vulnerable. Monroe thinks how easy it would be to take him now, to give him what Rosalee says he needs right here on the floor of the trailer. In his weakened state, Nick’s protests would be easy to ignore or overcome. He would be doing Nick a favor, even, to take things out of his control. Monroe can almost see him, spread out naked, panting, helpless, as Monroe--

He makes an involuntary noise, deep in his throat, and Nick turns his head. “Monroe?”

Nick’s face is tired, and the skin looks thin and fragile under his eyes. His lips are chapped.

Monroe clears his throat. “Nothing—I just think you might have found it.” He points to the open book.

They both look at the page. “Huh.” Monroe tilts his head. “She was pretty good with her pencil, your cousin. These are some drawings. How many people is that? Five?”

“Six. No. Seven.”

They read, but there’s nothing here that Rosalee hasn’t told them already, except for a lot of graphic and self-congratulatory detail. Monroe thinks Aunt Marie might’ve been right about Moonshadow Starshine (nee Nancy).

Nick makes an uncharacteristic sound of defeat and lowers his head onto his folded arms.

 

+++

Rosalee opens the door to the shop with a worried look on her face. “Where’s Nick?”

“I dropped him at home—poor guy’s exhausted. Why?”

“Because I looked up a few things while you were gone, made a few phone calls. And apparently the whole “letting it wear off” plan isn’t a good idea.”

“How come?”

“Seems the longer this stuff stays in your system, the more toxic it gets. It can start doing internal damage—liver, spleen—“

Monroe holds up a hand. “Okay—I get it. But what can we do? You saw how adamant he is about that stuff. What’re we supposed to do: go knock on the door, and say, sorry you’re not feeling well, dude, but we’re your friends and we’re here to fuck you?”

“Monroe,” Rosalee says reprovingly. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

+++

Which is how they come to be parked outside Nick and Juliette’s house at about eight o’clock that night. Rosalee has a sack of stuff from the shop, and another backpack of things they stopped by her place to get. Monroe has no idea what’s inside the bags and no more sense of her plan than he did earlier, but he thinks he’s learning to live with that.

“Ready?” Rosalee asks.

“As I’ll ever be. No—wait—“ Monroe grabs her hand as she starts to get out of the car. “What I said before—about being willing to, uh, help Nick—did that bother you?”

She shakes her head, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “And you?” she says. “Would it bother you if I told you I’d maybe been involved with one or two of these, um, group activities—a long time ago when I was a really different person?”

He shakes his head in turn, because, God, he wants to know every version of Rosalee that’s ever been. He thinks he could love them all.

She leans over and kisses him lightly. Her lips feel soft and right on his. They’ve only kissed a few times, always briefly, and always when there’s been the excuse of greeting or comfort or celebration. He knows he wants more, and he’s pretty sure she does. But things have been so complicated lately.

“Ready now?” she asks, and he follows.

+++

“Hey Juliette,” Monroe says when she opens the door. He knows he sounds awkward but he can’t seem to force his voice into a natural register. “This is my friend, Rosalee. She’s a friend of Nick’s, too. I mean, a friend like I am—helps with cases and stuff like that. We know Nick’s been sick and—“

“Yeah,” Juliette interrupts him. She’s not wearing any makeup, and her hair has escaped the loose knot it’s tied into. “He’s really not feeling well. Definitely not up to visitors, guys, I’m sorry.”

Rosalee cuts in then, sounding like she does this kind of stuff every day. “Actually, that’s why we’re here. We know the doctor couldn’t do anything for him, but I’m kind of a homeopath. Alternative remedies, that kind of thing. I think I might know what’s wrong with him—and something that might help.”

Monroe gapes. Is Rosalee’s plan to tell Juliette the unvarnished truth? But Juliette must be truly at the end of her tether, because she warily opens the door wider and ushers them in.

+++

Rosalee lays things out in a confident, businesslike way that Monroe can only admire as he tries to compose his face into what he hopes are reassuring lines. It’s a new street drug, yes; one the doctors aren’t familiar with yet; it produces some unusual symptoms that Nick might have told them about, in an extremely discreet way, earlier in the day.

Juliette takes it all in unblinkingly. Monroe can’t quite decipher the look on her face, but if he had to guess, he would say she was trying not to cry.

Then, as if his reactions have been set to some kind of ten minute delay, Nick stumbles down the stairs.

“Honey, I thought I heard voices…”

He comes to a halt when he sees Monroe and Rosalee sitting opposite Juliette and stares at them blankly. He’s wearing only a pair of baggy pajama bottoms, and Monroe imagines he can see the way illness has already started to carve away the flesh from his torso, make shadows between his ribs.

“It’s just Monroe,” says Juliette. “And Rosalee—she says you know her?”

Nick nods. “You should…” He swallows. “You should probably listen to what she has to say.” Monroe can see Nick’s grip on the banister tighten as the little color left in his face drains away.

Juliette stares for a moment, then nods once, quickly. “Okay. Go back to bed, babe—I’ll be up in a minute.” Nick, somewhat to Monroe’s surprise, trudges up the stairs. Something in his posture seems to steel Juliette to action. “Right. You said you knew something that might help?”

Rosalee smiles and places one of her hands over one of Juliette’s. “Why don’t you make us some tea,” she says to Monroe. “Juliette and I need to have some girl talk.”

+++

From his kitchen banishment, Monroe can’t hear much of what they’re saying. They’ve bent their heads, leaning in so close they’re almost touching. Every once in a while Juliette’s head moves in what might be either puzzlement or agreement.

When he returns to place three mugs on the coffee table, Rosalee digs around in the sack she brought from the store and pulls out a grainy-looking capsule.

“You’re sure?” she asks Juliette.

“Yes.”

“I’m not,” Monroe says, pulling the mug away. “Are more drugs really the answer here?” He knows he sounds prudish but he doesn’t care.

Rosalee gently pulls the tea back and drops the pill in. “Just herbal stuff—for relaxation. Juliette and I have already discussed it.”

Monroe gets that feeling you have when you’ve gone in so deep you can’t touch the bottom anymore.

“C’mon,” Rosalee says, pulling Juliette to her feet. “Let’s see if we can cool Nick off a bit to start with.”

“Okay, right.” Monroe rises too. “Maybe it’s time I got going, huh? Come pick you up later maybe?” He doesn’t want to go, not really, but he doesn’t know the etiquette for things like this, and it feels it might be the polite thing to do.

But Rosalee leaves Juliette to touch his arm. “Stay—we’re going to need you in a bit. Just,” she pulls him down so she can whisper in his ear, “just don’t change, okay? It’s gonna be tempting, but I think Juliette’s cup of weirdness is just about running over already, y’know?”

Monroe does know. But Rosalee’s right. He can feel his blutbad senses straining towards the surface, his teeth sharpening behind his lips.

+++

He tries to busy himself with tidying up, but the sounds coming from upstairs draw him like a magnet. He can hear the women’s low voices and Nick’s hoarse replies as they coax him into the bathroom, then the sound of running water. They’re drawing a bath, perhaps, and sure enough, an array of herbal scents, lavender and verbena and one or two he can’t identify waft down to him.

Before he knows what he’s doing he’s outside the bathroom door, trying to parse the murmurs and soft splashes emanating from within.

“Okay, Juliette,” he hears Rosalee say distinctly. “Like we talked about: slow, but keep the pressure steady.”

 _Why_ , he wonders again, _why is Juliette letting her into the most intimate portions of their lives_? But hadn’t he been the same? Hadn’t he been willing to do whatever Rosalee said from the moment he’d met her. It was some quality she carried with her—honesty, compassion, and something else, something all her own.

Then Nick makes a noise he’s never heard from him before, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, sweet and longing, and Monroe has to walk away from the door, listing the sixteen gears of a vintage Bulova in his head to prevent every ounce of blood in his body from going straight to his groin.

His erection is only barely under control when Rosalee sticks her head out of the door. Her face is pinker than it was, and damp strands of hair cling to her forehead.

“Hey,” she says, “can you get Nick back to bed? I’m just going to help Juliette with some stuff.”

Monroe nods mutely, and lets Rosalee lead an equally flushed Juliette past him into what seems to be the spare room. Rosalee is carrying the pack she brought from home. In the bathroom, he finds Nick sitting on the side of the tub, a towel around his waist. His head looks too heavy for his neck and his pupils are dilated, but he smiles loosely when he sees Monroe.

“C’mon, buddy, let’s go.”

Monroe squats in front of Nick, thinking to brace him to his feet. He almost loses his balance when Nick leans in and kisses him instead, open-mouthed, wet and sloppy.

Nick’s lips are hot, surely hotter than they should be, and that should make Monroe careful, right, concerned? It shouldn’t make him suddenly reckless, opening himself to Nick’s tongue when it starts to plunder his mouth. It shouldn’t make him giddy with desire.

They kiss for a long moment before Monroe can make himself pull away. “Here we go,” he says, bringing Nick to his feet. The towel gets left behind somehow, and Monroe schools himself not to stare at Nick’s cock, gorgeous as it is, thick and red and so hard it strains upwards toward his belly. “I told Rosalee I’d get you back to bed.”

It’s not easy, getting the few steps down the hall to Nick and Juliette’s bedroom. Nick is grabby in a way Monroe would never have expected of him, sneaking kisses and copping feels. He has ample opportunity, too, since he’s as wobbly as a colt and Monroe has to keep him basically tucked up under his arm. Like the kiss, the handsiness is more of turn on than it should be.

Finally, he’s able to lay Nick down on the bed. He’s just fighting off Nick’s weak attempts to pull him down too when Nick suddenly stops, transfixed by something he sees over Monroe’s shoulder.

Monroe turns his head and then he’s frozen too. Juliette stands naked in the doorway. Her head is down, her loose hair covering her breasts and obscuring her expression. In the dim light, her skin almost glows, its pallor accentuated by the black harness of the strap-on she’s wearing.

“Oh,” Nick breathes behind him. “Baby.”

Monroe stumbles out of the way as Juliette comes toward them, her face still lowered, the smooth cock of the strap-on swaying a little as she walks. He should probably leave now, he thinks, this is really private stuff. But he backs into a wall instead, and stays there as if enchanted. From the corner of his eye he can see Rosalee just inside the door, a rapt expression on her face, biting her bottom lip in concentration.

Juliette comes to a halt between Nick’s legs, and they watch each other for a moment, chests rising and falling in unison.

“Please.” Nick reaches up to cup her ass, voice ravaged by need. “Please?”

And then somehow Juliette has him arranged on hands and knees. Whatever prep they’d done in the bath must’ve been damn effective, too, because she pushes in without effort. Nick seems ready, eager, his earlier sluggishness left behind as he works himself onto the strap-on, fingers digging into the sheets for leverage.

Juliette’s face is still hidden by her hair, but from where he stands Monroe can see Nick’s—eyes half shut, lips parted. All the need Monroe had only sensed before is laid out there—he’s wide open in more ways than one. Monroe drops his eyes—but that doesn’t mean he can’t hear them, can’t smell them, their scents wrapping around each other like living things. His own cock starts to fill again, pressing against the zipper of his jeans.

“That’s it, sister,” says a new voice. “A little more.”

It’s Rosalee, Monroe sees when he raises his eyes. She’s come up behind Juliette, her dark hair mingling with the red of Juliette’s as she brings her mouth close to Juliette’s ear. She cups Juliette’s breasts, plays with her nipples for a moment before sliding her hands down to grip Juliette’ hips, speeding up her rhythm, adjusting the angle.

“Faster now,” Rosalee says. “That’s it. That’s what he needs. Right, Nick?”

“Yes,” Nick gasps. “God. Yes. Like that. Yes.”

Nick sounds like he’s on the brink already, but It takes a long time—the effect of the drug, or Nick’s weakened condition, maybe. It takes until Nick’s breath is coming in ragged whimpers and Juliette is panting with effort, Rosalee murmuring encouragement. Monroe is just wishing he had Rosalee’s genuis for helping when Nick comes with a strangled groan, hips bucking convulsively as Juliette reaches down to ease him through it.

After, Nick collapses onto his stomach, sucking air. The harness clatters to the floor as Juliette sheds it. She curls around him on the bed, stroking his back, his hair, whispering things meant for the two of them alone.

“Get some water, will you? And some towels?”

Monroe starts at the sound of Roselee’s voice, realizing just how long he’s been watching his friends do something that they wouldn’t ordinarily let him see. But Rosalee looks like he feels—eyes dazed, lips red like she’s been biting them. Like maybe she was turned on by it too. Somehow that makes him feel better.

By the time he gets back with a bowel of water and a washcloth, Nick is curled up with his head in Juliette’s lap and Juliette is looking worriedly at Rosalee, who’s kneeling on the bed beside them.

“He’s still burning up. You said that would work. Why didn’t it work?”

Rosalee shakes her head, running a damp cloth over Nick’s neck and torso. There’s a small wrinkle between her brows. “I don’t know. It’s been in his system a long time. It might take a while to get it out.”

As if to prove the truth of her words, Nick moans faintly and shifts, and Monroe can see that he’s half hard again already, his cock starkly red against his pale skin. Nick squirms a little, restless or uncomfortable and mutters something to the inside of Juliette’s thigh. It sounds like _please_.

Juliette stares helplessly at Rosalee, her fingers carding through the damp hair around Nick’s face. “Should we….? I mean, would it help to…? Again? I don’t know it I—“

She sounds like worry has overtaken whatever drive or desire had gotten her through the first time. Rosalee meets Monroe’s eyes above her head.

Fighting down a burst of panic, and hoping he’s reading Rosalee correctly, Monroe blurts out, “Juliette, I know this is weird—beyond weird—and you should feel free to say no, fuck no, really. But if you want, if you don’t feel like you want to go again, I could—.” He means the words to come out neutral, calm, _helpful_ , but Monroe can hear the quiver of need in his own voice, and realizes just how much he wants to be part of this—not on the outside looking in, but part of that hot tangle of bodies on the bed.

Juliette’s eyes open wide—not offended, Monroe doesn’t think, not protective—just surprised. “I--,” she starts, and then seems to actually consider it. “Okay, yeah—if Nick—“

She’s missed the make-out session in the hallway, Monroe realizes with relief. And then Nick himself raises his head. He looks wrecked beyond belief but he rakes his eyes over Monroe’s body with unmistakable hunger.

Turns out Rosalee has some condoms in her pack too, and Monroe gets though the awkward process of getting his clothes off and one of those on by locking onto Nick’s ravenous gaze. The room is a swamp of scents—sex and sweat and come and fever. His blutbad senses sort through them frantically, struggling to separate danger from safety, while some deep part of him rages that he’s going to need lupine claws and teeth and ears to make this work. But he keeps that part of him in check, Rosalee’s warning ringing in his head.

And then he’s got one of Nick’s ankles hooked over his shoulder and Nick is spread beneath him, just as Monroe imagined him earlier. When was that? It seems a lifetime ago. Except this time, they have company. Rosalee has withdrawn a bit, but Juliette stays close—one hand tangled in Nick’s hair, the other on his shoulder. She regards Monroe with a look part scared, part pleading, and part fiercely protective. It almost makes him lose his nerve, but then Nick whimpers, Juliette nods, and Monroe pushes in.

He almost gasps with the heat of it. Nick’s loose from the first time, muscles barely resisting Monroe’s thrust, but the sensation is still overwhelming. To be this deep, balls deep, inside his friend—a cop, a _Grimm_ \--it’s nothing he’s ever imagined. Except that now that he’s here he can’t believe he hasn’t thought about it night and day.

He eases himself back out, then in again, shifting his hips and Nick’s, looking for the right angle. He’s trying to be gentle, but Nick still makes a sound closer to pain than pleasure. He must be tender from the first time, of course, and exhausted by the fever. Monroe freezes, expecting Juliette to call a halt to the whole thing, but instead she runs her hands down Nick’s stomach to his cock, stroking up the red, swollen length of it.

“Come on, baby,” she whispers, “almost there.”

Her hands are so close to the place where he and Nick are joined that they almost brush Monroe’s stomach, and the proximity sends an unexpected thrill through him, a shudder. Juliette looks up at him, and now there’s something in her face that wasn’t there before, a glimmer that suggests this is turning her on too.

“Come on,” she says again, this time directly to Monroe. “Let’s do this thing.”

Monroe speeds up again, hoping his blutbad teeth aren’t as close to the surface as they feel. Juliette holds him in her gaze as he thrusts, jacking Nick to his rhythm, and he chases the challenge in her eyes, the promise.

They’re all panting now, Nick in jagged little moans, and suddenly Rosalee is back with them, though where she’d been before Monroe couldn’t say. Now she’s behind Juliette again, and above all of their breathing Monroe can hear her say, “May I?” to Juliette as she slips a hand between her legs.

Juliette gasps out a yes, and then her head goes back and her hand on Nick’s cock falters. Monroe didn’t think he could be more aroused than he already is, but watching Juliette’s orgasm rise in her—the bright sounds and scents of her pleasure—brings him to greater heights that he thought possible. All thought of being gentle with Nick disappears, and he slams into him with a shameful abandon.

When Juliette comes, he follows her right over the edge. Only a wet splatter across his belly alerts him that Nick has joined them too.

It’s all he can do to pull out of Nick, peel off the condom and tie it off, before he’s collapsing onto the bed, a welter of limbs around him. The heavy, hot ones must be Nick’s, the light, cooler ones Juliette’s. But suddenly he wants more than anything to put his arms around Rosalee, and he’s reaching out, searching for her, when he falls asleep.

It seems like only a few moments—it might really be only a few moments, before Rosalee’s shaking his shoulder. He grabs her hand, thrilled to have found her, and starts pulling her down into the warm pile of bodies, but she resists.

“Come on,” she says softly. “Time to wake up.”

Monroe realizes that he and Juliette have Nick tightly sandwiched between them. Nick has his face buried between Juliette’s breasts, and Monroe is plastered along his back, his arm low and tight around Nick’s belly. Moonshadow Starshine would be proud of them, he thinks, and swallows a laugh.

Then he realizes that Nick’s skin isn’t alarmingly hot anymore. It’s clammy, covered with a layer of sweat. He looks at Rosalee.

“Fever finally broke,” she confirms, smiling. “Let’s see if we can get them cleaned up without waking them.”

He nods, and extricates himself as carefully as he can. Nick doesn’t wake, just shifts so he’s more tightly wrapped around Juliette. Monroe locates his discarded boxers—it no longer feels right to be completely naked—and then takes the damp cloth Rosalee offers him and joins her on the bed.

The cloth smells good—Rosalee must’ve infused the water she soaked it in with some healing herb—and the aroma starts to chase the scents of sex and sickness from the room. It’s strangely intimate, washing the bodies of their sleeping friends. He helps Rosalee move Nick so they can clean the come off his belly, and then between the cheeks of his ass, swabbing gently around his hole. It looks sore, but not lacerated. Nick makes a tiny pained noise as they work, but still doesn’t wake.

“Will he be okay now, do you think?” Monroe whispers as they work.

“I think so. He’s going to feel like hell for a few days, exhausted and dehydrated. And he should probably get a doctor to check out his internal organ functions. But the Nerzvolkspeichel is definitely out of his system now.” Rosalee sounds calm, composed, as if they haven’t just had one of the weirdest, and maybe most wonderful, nights of his life.

“Do you think he’ll be mad at us, when he, um, comes back to his senses?” Monroe asks more tentatively. “Do you think they both will?”

Rosalee’s voice falters for the first time. “I don’t know. We should probably schedule a really long, awkward conversation for about a week from now. “ She pauses. “Do you regret it?”

“No.” Monroe is surprised to find how much he means it.

Rosalee smiles.

They have to rouse Nick and Juliette a bit more to change the sheets, but they still don’t come fully awake, just -re-curl around each other in the clean linen. Rosalee spreads a thick comforter over them while Monroe fills glasses of water and places them on the nightstand.

“Should we stay?” he asks as Rosalee pulls the door of the bedroom halfway closed.

“I don’t think we need to. They’ll sleep for a long time now—we can check on them in the morning. We can go home. You must be tired.”

“I’m not,” he says, and he isn’t. There’s something jangling through him again, something unfinished.

Rosalee looks at him if she understands, her eyes suddenly sharper and brighter, as if she’s feeling it too.

“Like I said,” she murmurs, “they’ll sleep for a while now.”

And then she’s on him. Sharp little teeth, _Fuschbau_ teeth, prick at his throat, his jawline, and the soft bristles on her face rub against his cheek.

He groans, or maybe it’s more of a growl, hard again instantly, and grabs under her thighs, pulling her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist. They rock there for a moment, grinding, nipping, digging in with claws and teeth.

“I want to see you,” she gasps, and he lets the _volga_ begin.


End file.
